I’m not super excited about turning 30. There, I said it. I know, age ain’t nothing but a number, blah blah blah but what it boils down to for me is I want more time. I want five years back. Maybe seven. But with everything I know now, from how not to date losers to confidence (possibly related to the first thing) to what type of bang looks best with sad, wispy hair. I want more, more, more, because I never think I’ve done good enough. Or enough period.
I feel like I’ve wasted so much time, but have a sneaking suspicion turning back time isn’t possible. So until Science gets on that Dorian Grey Theorem, I made a list of the best and worst parts of coming up on 30. In the coming months, I’ll review this in an attempt to find some kind of balance or acceptance (I won’t). But making lists is comforting and puts things in perspective – and hey, there we go. That’s one thing that comes with age.
- Energy. I get tired. I need a full night’s sleep. So lame.
- “When do you think you’ll get married?”
- Pitiful tolerance. Brutal hangovers.
- The fashions of your tween years come back. You walk past Lane Tech and everyone looks like an extra from Buffy (TV show, not movie). 90s styles being a thing is tripping me out so hard. Maybe this isn’t the worst so much as weird and hilarious. But yeah. Flowered dresses with spaghetti straps. Chunky platforms. I can’t.
- “How do you feel about being an older mother?”
- Never tell anyone you might want kids someday. Never tell them you don’t want kids. Never tell anyone anything because after 27 they will make your uterine future their business and any preference you express is ammo to judge, judge, judge and pour on the unsolicited advice. Also, from what I hear this never ends. Cool.
- Still not sure what I’m doing in some major life areas.
- Your mom isn’t 40, she’s 60, and everything that comes along with that.
- 25-year-olds killing it.
- “But really, when do you think you’ll have kids?”
- 22-year-olds killing it.
- Insecurity and its pal anxiety still alive and kicking.
- Acute awareness of the passing of time.
- Eating like an asshole has more consequences. I’m not going to stop doing it. But, yeah. It’s real and upsetting.
- My friends in their 30s, 40s and beyond look good. This is soothing.
- Bullshit tolerance at an all-time low. Oh man. Not putting up with things is heady stuff. I encourage all young ladies to start doing it as soon as possible.
- I can drive a car.
- I can ride a bike on the street.
- I don’t date garbage dudes. I’ve settled on one. Hey-o! Kidding so hard, my long-term guy is wonderful and being with him is pretty great and occasionally a little sad, because it throws the shitty relationships of the past into sharp relief. Like wow, I really put up with that when I could have had this.
- I don’t hang out with garbage people. Generally. Not by choice, anyway.
- My cousin is a mini-adult now and I can sort of talk to her like a real person. She also takes a million selfies but that’s fine. We text sometimes.
- Staying in is the greatest.
- Did I mention I don’t date garbage dudes?
- After a billion years of therapy, have come to some understanding of family, history, and how brain workings. Still fuck up but have greater awareness of why it happens and sometimes how to make it better.
- I don’t buy twelve shirts at the thrift store that kinda look okay, I hold out and buy one that actually fits.
- I write more. That might be the first half of this list for you, but it’s forever this half for me.